Footsteps of the Wisp
by Shiantor
Summary: What happens when you become the thing you most fear and despise? The story of an elf in Kirkwall, and the journey that makes them the legend called The White Wisp. OC x OC.


The Hanged Man…the pride of Lowtown, and the unacknowledged heart of Kirkwall itself. Here, the hierarchy of the city crumbled away, and everyone from the highest of nobles to the most depraved bandits would drink from the same tankards, and become a part of the same drunken mass.

The sun waned over the city of chains, and the weary crowds started to gravitate towards the tavern, feet sore and throats dry. A greasy-bearded dwarf planted his podgy hand on the door to enter the inn, until…

"Out! Get out!"

A little elf girl shoved past him as she scampered out of the tavern, chased by the yells of the landlady. The dwarf cursed, but the smell of ale tempted him away from skinning the girl where she stood. He went to push the door open again.

"That goes for you too!" A second elf, a boy this time, pounced over the dwarf's stocky shoulder, unbalancing him and making him topple into the gutter. Both youths hurtled away down the streets of Lowtown towards the Alienage.

"Where'd you get to?" the girl asked her friend as they both felt safe enough to slow their pace.

"Harvesting," the boy said, grinning as he held up a plump satchel of coins. "Shem should've been watching his pockets."

"Talyn!"

"What? It was hanging from his belt like a fat piece of fruit. _Someone_ was going to pick it."

The girl pouted. Willow Arannis was around ten with short blonde hair, a strand of which stubbornly hung in front of her green eyes. She was city-born, and had spent her life in the squalor of the Elven Alienage…and yet she looked surprisingly clean. Her clothes were still cheap and plain, but recently washed, and her hair was brushed neatly.

Talyn Melkallin, by contrast, was born Dalish, and had only arrived in Kirkwall three years ago. He still carried the distinguished accent of his people, along with a few small tribal tattoos that ran up the sides of his face and met on his forehead, although this was partially obscured by his mess of black hair. Unlike Willow, he seemed slightly worse for wear, with tears in his trousers and a few scrapes here and there.

"Still, you shouldn't have," Willow said.

"Come on, the rest of us need to make money somehow," Talyn chimed, tossing the coin purse up down in his hands. "Not all of our fathers are willing to lick the Templar's boots as much as yours."

Willow shot him a glare, and Talyn abruptly stopped tossing the coin purse.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "That…came out meaner than I meant it to."

Willow only rolled her eyes…and walked headlong into the shoulder of another boy.

"Hey! Watch it, knife-ear!" The boy gave Willow a shove, making her fall backwards onto the cobbles.

Talyn clenched the money purse tightly. The offending boy was about twice his width, with small eyes, rounded ears, and a dent between his nose and forehead. He had learnt to hate the freakish features of shemlen (or "humans" as they called themselves) from a young age. Unfortunately for him, he lived in a city that was thriving with them and their decadence.

"Oh, is that for me?" the boy said, snatching the purse from Talyn's fingers. The elf resisted, but shemlen were naturally bigger and stronger than elves, so it was a futile struggle.

Talyn snarled. "Give that back!"

The boy leaned in close to Talyn's face. "You going to make me, knife-ear?"

There was a long pause…and Talyn pulled a small dagger from his belt and pressed the blade against the child's throat. The blood drained from his fat face.

"Shemlen," Talyn said venomously. "You know what that word means? It's Elvish. It means 'quick children'." He applied a little more pressure on the blade. "Personally I think you look pretty fat and slow for that name…but feel free to prove me wrong."

The boy shook his head as much as he dared. "Y-you wouldn't…you kill me, they'll drag you off to the Gallows."

"You think that'll bring you back from the dead?"

The boy turned paler still.

"Stop it!" Willow batted Talyn's arm down, and the dagger with it. The shemlen stepped back, panting and rubbing the dull red line on his skin.

Talyn looked at Willow's furious expression and his temper softened. He put his dagger away.

The shemlen laughed. "Good thing your girlfriend was here to save you! Or are you her pet?"

Willow turned to the boy and stood up straight, facing the boy with haughty confidence. "Walk away, human. And don't talk about this to anyone."

"And why shouldn't I? Little knife-ears like you need to be strung up!"

"Because, _Coby Rookland_," Willow said firmly. "My father is Lerryn Arannis."

"The Templar's pet?" the boy said cautiously. "S…so what?"

"Well, I don't think he's had the pleasure of meeting your mother yet. How is she doing these days?" Willow smiled sweetly.

What little courage Coby Rookland had was cut dead then and there. "N-no…please…"

"You say elves should be strung up…but I guarantee there's one thing Kirkwall would string up much, much sooner."

The little elf stood her ground…and the shemlen stepped back, sealing Willow's victory. "H-here. Take it!" He threw the coin purse back to Talyn. "I…I'm sorry!" With that, the human scampered away.

Willow watched him and gave a small giggle. "Wow, you were right…he _is_ fat and slow."

Talyn paused. "Willow…"

"What?" she turned to her friend.

"You _are_ going to hold your end of that bargain, right?"

"What bargain?" Willow put her hands on her hips stroppily. "I never said I _wouldn't_ tell Father."

"Willow!"

"What? She's an illegal mage!"

"Come on. Your father won't know if you decide to look away this one time."

Willow pouted and looked away. "_I'd_ know."

"Just this once…please?"

The girl met her friend's eyes. Talyn gave her one of his infamous puppy-dog looks…one of the only things in Kirkwall that could break Willow's resolve.

As always, it didn't fail.

"Oh…_fine!_ Just this once. But if she turns into an abomination and burns down Lowtown-!"

"I'll just give you that same look and you'll forgive me." Talyn grinned, and even Willow couldn't help but smile bashfully. "Come on, let's just get home. It's getting dark."

Talyn resumed his casual juggling of the money pouch, and Willow tagged along behind all the way back to the corner of Lowtown where the elves were allowed to dwell. A pair of templars in full armor were lingering outside of Willow's house, passing some sovereigns to her father; a gangly elf with a hooked nose and a balding patch on his head that made him look distinctly like a vulture.

With a few muttered words, the templars departed, and a handful of elves gave Lerryn Arannis a mixture of dirty looks. As always, they went ignored.

"Willow!" he said harshly as the two children passed the tree in the centre of the Alienage. "I was about to call the guards, where have you been?"

"Sorry Father. I got distracted," Willow said shyly.

"Sorry ser, it was my fault," Talyn said. "I'll just…be going now."

"I think that would be best," Lerryn said sharply, narrowing his eyes at the youth and clutching his gold that little bit tighter.

Talyn bowed his head briefly and walked off towards his own house.

"Willow?" Lerryn said suddenly, and Talyn turned to see Willow was looking around fearfully, wildly almost. "What are you doing, girl?"

Willow paused and started to calm down, but still looked unnerved somehow. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" her father said, long ears twitching.

"I just…thought I heard…" Willow noticed how both Lerryn and Talyn were giving her odd looks. She sighed. "Forget it. It's gone now, whatever it was."

"Then come inside!" The older man held the door open and ushered Willow inside. Talyn lingered just long enough to see Willow give a nervous glance over her shoulder before going into the house.


End file.
